
Class JS^M^ 
Rnnk 0<b7^^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



POEMS 



By 
WALTER J. DOHERTY 




1915 






ot^^.^ 



Copyright 1915 
By WALTER 7. DOHERTY 



nrT 29 1915 

S)Gi,A4 1.4297 




INDEX 

Page 

Dedication 9-10 

Two Seeds 11-12 

The Wild Flower 13 

The Mountain Stream 14-15 

The River Liffey 16-17 

Beauties of Nature 18 

Ruins of Ireland 19-20 

My Heart is in Ireland yet 21-22 

Letter to Rev. H. M. Murtaugh 23-24 

Letter to Sisters Joseph Calasanctuis and Mary Marie..25-26 

Letter to Rev. Father Park 27 

Letter to Rev. E. F. Park 28-29 

Servant of God 30-31 

Five Martyr Sisters of Incarnate Word 32-33-34 

The Martyred Sisters of Incarnate Word 35-36 

Tribute to Columbus 37-38-39 

The Settler 40-41-42 

The Miser 43-44 

The Roman Gladiator 45 

The Vulture's Prey 46-47-48 

7 



I N D E X—Continued 

Page 
Return of Youth 49 

Fancy-Free 50 

Fireside Fancies 51 

Day Dreams 52-53 

Sweethearts Together 54-55 

She's Writing to Absent Loved Ones 56-57 

Lovers 58 

Maiden and Her Mate 59-60 

She's Married Now 61 

Perplexing Thoughts 62 

True Love 63 

The Loveless Poet 64 

Future Generations 65-66 

Woman's Weapons 67 

The Modern Woman of Fashion 68 

The Howling Dog 68-70 

The Cow 71-72 

An Auto Ride 73-74 

Trailing the Dead 75 



DEDICATION 

I dedicate these poems to 
My Faithful Wife 

I need not have her name inscribed 

Nor written in my heart, 
For her love and memory are entwined, 

As of my life she is a part. 

A man's best friend is his wife. By that I do not 
mean an adventuress or one who marries solely for a 
home or as a subterfuge. Such a one is usually as 
insincere and as indifferent to the well-being of her 
husband after marriage as she was before, being entirely 
actuated by mercenary motives and not congenial love 
and affection. 

But the true wife, the loving, patient, kind, forgiving 
wife, is the greatest temporal blessing a man can possess 
on earth. She who rejoices in his prosperity and sympa- 
thizes with him in his adversity. Who, when sick will 
soothe, and when in trouble will console and comfort 
him. 

The love of a true wife is not even excelled by that 
of a mother, nor will she undergo more hardships and 
privations for his sake than will his wife. 

When as a girl she was so attentive, so solicitous and 
so proud of her brothers, when married she transfers 
all that love and affection to her husband, and in a 
manner lives for him alone. 



But alas, too often we find that she receives in return 
for her self-sacrifice and untiring devotion only neglect 
and indifference, which eats into her sensitive heart like 
a canker, withers the bloom of her young womanhood 
and brings on premature old age. 

This neglect often happens, not from indifference nor 
appreciation, but in a sense from a lack of knowledge 
of his responsibility. 

The young husband accustomed to attentions at home 
expects the same attentions from his young wife, for- 
getting that she, too, had been accustomed to be petted 
at home and have every whim gratified. But some hus- 
bands feeling themselves the masters, insist on implicit 
obedience from the young wife, which she, on her part, 
is often willing to give, and subjects herself to his un- 
reasoning will and iron rule. 

W. J. DOHERTY. 




10 



TWO SEEDS. 

Two seeds were sown in a garden fair, 

One 'neath a shady bower 
Where the bleak north wind or the late spring frosts 

Hath over it no power, 
And the noonday sun with its fiercest darts 

Around it did detour. 

It grew within that shady grove 

With a fresh and tender hue, 
Where its foliage graced that shady place 

When wet by the morning dew. 
But its slender stem and tender leaves 

Bespoke that its days were few. 

Not being enured to the winds and rains 

And the sun that giveth strength, 
For it grew with care in that perfumed air 

Where its tender stem unbent, 
And its slender frame could not sustain 

When the shade o'er it was rent. 

So it quickly pined and then declined. 

When exposed to the wind and sun. 
And its stalk was bent as it had no strength 

Ere its usefulness was done; 
And no odor there perfumed the air, 

For it died when its life begun. 

11 



The other fell on a sterile soil, 

Unprotected; where it grows, 
And the biting frost and the cold north wind 

Beat hard e'er the sun arose ; 
But it stood the strain, tho it seemed in vain, 

As each day in strength it grows. 

But the frosts had eased and the wind had ceased, 

And that flov/er in beauty grew, 
For the hardening strife it had for life 

Made it strong and perfect, too; 
And now that flower makes a beauty bower. 

Which the other could not do. 




12 



THE WILD FLOWER. 

'Tis but a weed that's gone to seed, 

And now a wild flower fair, 
That lines the dell wherein we dwell 

And scents the morning air. 

Tis but a weed that none doth heed, 

Nor do they tend nor care; 
But silently they crown the lee 

With their fragrant beauty rare. 

'Tis but a flower within the bower, 

That blossoms for a day, 
Then droops its head and then 'tis dead 

With the sun's departing ray. 

'Tis but a flower in beauty's hour 
For youth and beauty are gay, 

But when the night shuts out the light 
Their memory'll pass away. 



13 



THE MOUNTAIN STREAM. 

That rumbling, tumbling, little stream, 

That rumbles thru the dell, 
That sparkling, rumbling, little stream. 

That stream I love so well ; 
That rolls and tumbles down, how long 

No one on earth can tell. 

That distant rumbling music sound. 

My memory views it still. 
As if I scanned the scenes around 

That weather-beaten hill; 
It holds my thoughts there as if bound 

With its own magnetic spell. 

That rumbling, purling, little stream 

Its name I fain would tell. 
For oft I've seen the dizzy heights 

From which its waters fell; 
As onward on its course it flows 

To make some river swell. 

And loose its rippling music's thrill 
That sounds like silvery bells, 

Upon that valley 'neath the hill, 
Where happy childhood dwells 

Who play and gambol free from care 
Among the rocks and shells. 

14 



But they, too, like the silvery stream 
That rumbles thru the dell. 

Will stray from that secluded spot 
Where all with them was well. 

And mingling with life's maelstrom, 
Their future none can tell. 



15 



THE RIVER LIFFEY. 

In many a fair city 

That's washed by the Liffey 

As it flows on its course to Kildare, 
And its blue sparkling waters 
Like Erin's fair daughters 

Whose eyes are as sparkling and clear. 

As it leaves the near mountain 
It flows like a fountain 

Thru the woodland and hills to the plains, 
And it flows thru some villas 
As it rises in billows 

Thru the beautiful land that it drains. 

On its course to the Ocean, 
It's ever in motion, 

Like the Snake Stream that ne'er had a snake; 
But their waters co-mingle, 
Then they flow along single. 

Thru many a jungle and brake. 

There is Naas near the center 
In the Province of Linster, 

Where the kings of old Ireland were crowned; 
In that neat little city 
That's washed by the Liffey, 

All that's left there to show is the mound. 

16 



While there's many a fair river, 
And some that are bigger, 

There's the Shannon, the Slaney and Laune; 
And some more out of number, 
Which I cannot remember, 

As 'twould tax to the limit my brain. 

There's Dublin, the pretty, 
Where empties the Liffey 

In the beautiful bay of that name. 
Where the joy-bells are tolling. 
While the people are strolling. 

Their life feels like one pleasant dream. 



17 



BEAUTIES OF NATURE. 

Oh, the beauties of nature when seen from afar, 

And equally so when they are near. 
From the dark deep blue sea to the bright morning star. 

That shines in the heavens so clear. 

What beauties of nature the Lord hath designed. 
And assigned to each one its own portion. 

As each does the work to which 'tis assigned. 
Which keeps the whole world in motion. 

The streams they make rivers, and the rivers the lakes, 

And all go to feed the great ocean, 
And thus in the system each object partakes 

In the parts that's assigned at creation. 

The wee drops of rainfall, and even the dew, 

That renew and replenish all nature. 
And softens the earth so the soil will renew 

A supply to suffice for each creature. 

The wonders of God that none can divine. 

For the works of the Lord are infinite; 
From the minutest specks to the heavens sublime. 

For to His wisdom and power there's no limit. 



18 



RUINS OF IRELAND. 

You may hear of the ruins of the Pharoes, 
And their citadels powerful and strong; 

Of Memphis, Thebes or Cairo, 

Which stood many sieges and long. 

There was Nineveh with its ancient splendor, 
And Tyre with its commerce on sea ; 

Tirynthus whose walls were a wonder, 
As it surely behooved them to be. 

You may travel thru cities now fallen, 
Whose glory and splendor are o'er. 

But no country has ruins more appalling 
Than Ireland, from center to shore. 

Irrespective of which way you turn, 

Or whatever direction you take. 
There appeareth the marks of destruction 

And the homes that we had to forsake. 

From the north to the south and the center. 
And all the way 'round by the sea. 

Your gaze it shall ever encounter 

The strongholds that once used to be. 

There were round towers and fortified castles 
That frowned from their eminent heights. 

And stood many hand-to-hand battles 

As they fought for their country and rights. 

19 



But their glory and power now are faded, 
And left but the shadows instead; 

But for cowardice they can't be upbraided, 
Their country shall raise tho they're dead. 



20 



MY HEART IS IN IRELAND YET. 

My heart is in Ireland yet, 

Tho I've wandered from its shore, 

For I left there with regret, 
As have many millions more. 

But in peaceful silent hours 
I oft view its verdant plains. 

With its ivy-clad round towers 
Of ancient grandeur that remains. 

I love its hills and valleys green, 
And climate that's sublime. 

The sparkling streams that run between 
With their twinkling music chime. 

The moss that grows upon the trees. 

The ferns in the dell; 
The warbling birds and humming bees, 

I still remember well. 

My heart is in Ireland yet. 

For no other place I see. 
Shall e'er cause me to forget 

Thee, in my silent reverie. 

When afflictions may o'ertake 
Or bright prospects are revived. 

In thought I ne'er forsake. 
But am ever at thy side. 

21 



For my heart is in Ireland yet, 
And there ever shall remain, 

While in my body there is breath, 
Or there's reason in my brain. 



22 



Rev. H. M. Murtaugh, 

St. Louis, Mo. 

Dear Father: 

Your kind letter was received here today, 

And I see by the contents that you've been far away; 

Your life is a hard one, not easy to bear. 

And you, too, have your worries, troubles and care. 

Your bed is not made with soft eiderdown, 

But where there's no cross you know there's no crown; 

As you preach to unbelievers who may scoff betimes, 

And pursue their own way in their folly and crimes. 

Do you repine at the hardships or complain of the load, 
Or shrink from your duty or your place of abode? 
Or seek for the pleasures which man seeks in vain. 
While they seek here for pleasures they get only pain? 
Ah, no; you don't look for the pleasures of life, 
For you know we are born in this world for strife ; 
And strive we must, too, if we are to succeed. 
For the life of a priest is to suffer and bleed. 

The priest is a father intrusted with care 

Of the Flock of the Lord while sojourning here; 

Who obeys the Good Shepherd whose flocks he attends. 

And for their omissions he tries to amend. 

For those who thru weakness may happen to stray 

From the path of devotion or the straight narrow way. 

Or when ravenous wolves are seeking to prey 

And scatter the flocks along the highway. 

23 



And their hideous forms they try to disguise, 
And seek to make perverts for satan by lies; 
Unfurls the banner of God and proclaims 
That the wolves are not Shepherds but only in name. 
For his charge he's responsible, in a way, to the Lord, 
But to man's mind 'tis not given to conceive the reward 
That God has in store as we're told by Saint Paul, 
But he must need watch his footsteps, lest he stumble 
and fall. 

W. J. DOHERTY. 



24 



Fort Worth, Texas, December 30, 1914. 

Sister Joseph Calasanctuis and 

Sister Mary Marie, 
San Angelo. 

Dear Sisters: 

I received your dear cards which I prize, 
But the donors I can't well remember. 

As you are but yourselves in disguise. 
From your dress I can't tell you asunder. 

Yet though hid 'neath a habit so dark, 
Your warm hearts beat quick and tender. 

For 'twas you once that sang like a lark. 
As it seems to me now, I remember. 

So happy, so gleeful and gay. 

Your spirits and souls were untrammeled. 
For the light of the Lord was the ray 

That shone in your souls as we traveled. 

As the bonds of the Lord never bind. 
But make just a sweet gently pressure, 

And makes the heart gentle and kind. 

Like the babe when her mother caresses her. 

For you, who live here free from sin, 
Your imperfections you've even repented. 

Are happy and peaceful within. 

As wherever you are you're contented. 

25 



But it fills my old heart with delight 
To know that you still don't forget me, 

And I'll ask for your prayers to do right, 

So when death comes the Devil won't get me. 

Sincerely to be remembered, 

W. J. DOHERTY. 



26 



October 26, 1914. 
Dear Father Park, 

Waco, Texas. 

There's a void in my heart without you, 
And I miss your sweet voice from my pew, 
As I kneel there still to pray, 
Tho my thoughts reach far away. 
And my words my thoughts betray 
Thoughts of you. 

In my heart none shall e'er take your dear place, 
For your presence e'er reflects God's good grace, 
But we speak of you each day. 
And we wonder why you stay 
From your flock so long away, 
Father dear. 

But we soon shall see your face back again. 
Where you work hard in the sunshine and rain, 
In the vineyard of the Lord, 
Tho for yourself you've no regard, 
But you shall have great reward 
For your pain. 

For the time it soon shall come of relief. 
When you'll suffer neither sorrow, pain nor grief. 
For the Lord shall wipe thy tears 
And relieve thee of all cares. 
Which you suffered thru the years 
Here so brief. 

W. J. DOHERTY. 

27 



Father Park, 

New Orleans, La. 

Dear Father Park: 

Why leave us alone and neglected 

To respond to a far distant call, 
And preach to those Nuns predilected, 

Who need not your sermons at all? 

Those ones who took God for their portion. 
And keep their lamps well filled with oil, 

And spend here a life of devotion — 
No wonder they're happy and smile. 

But like the miser who hoards up his treasures, 

They, too, their rewards multiply. 
And tho here they're denied of life's pleasures, 

Their reward shall be great bye and bye. 

For the nearer they are to God's foot-stool, 
The more of His blessings they crave, 

As their hearts with Him then are united. 
And they speak without fear or reserve. 

But with you it is toiling and preaching 
Since the day that you came at God's call. 

And for the stray sheep you're constantly reaching, 
And you help up the weak ones that fall. 

28 



The poor and the old and neglected, 
Who the wise of this world don't know, 

Is where you're most loved and expected, 
As 'tis there where you oftenest go. 

Yet you grace both the cabin and palace. 
As with joy you're received everywhere. 

And you bring with you comfort and solace 
And lighten the burdens they bear. 

The servant of God's ever willing 

To devote his life here in God's cause. 

For we've little time left here for toiling. 
So we'd better be keeping His laws. 

Sincerely, 

W. J. DOHERTY. 



2a 



THE SERVANT OF GOD. 

Behold, thou, the man so gentle and mild, 

Who moves thru the throngs or the suburbs so lowly, 
He's affable, gentle, and meek as a child. 

But has wisdom, is pious, learned and holy. 

Behold, thou, the man that's enlisted to serve. 
And do the good work that the Lord hath appointed, 

And from his good purpose he never doth swerve. 
For he's sacred to God, being His holy annointed. 

Behold, thou, the man, who in trials and afflictions, 
And sickness and death he is ever at hand, 

And must in return stand vile contradictions. 
The reason of which we cannot understand. 

Behold, thou, the man, for the Lord hath foretold it. 
Should suffer reproach and rebuke for his sake ; 

As 'twas one of the marks of the Church which He 
founded 
That he carry His cross or be burned at a stake. 

For the Lord in His wisdom and justice decreed it. 
The good here should suffer while the wicked rejoice; 

For they deemeth the wealth of this world sufficeth. 
Which vanish so quickly as it lasts but a trice. 

30 



Behold, thou, the man who with God in His glory, 
Which He has reserved for His servant on high; 

For then we shall hear quite a different story, 

Tho he's poor here on earth, he'll be rich when he'll 
die. 



31 



FIVE MARTYR SISTERS OF THE INCARNATE 
WORD. 

Upon the Alamoan plain 
Which history boasts to generations, 
Of those who fell upon it, slain. 
So it could win a place and fame 
Among the world's nations. 

We love to hear their praises sung 
And their heroic deeds repeated. 
The battles that they fought and won, 
For in death their work had but begun, 
Tho they were themselves defeated. 

The cradle of the Lone Star State, 
Where liberty was won and nourished. 
And left to history to relate 
Of the nation that they did create. 
And which we'll ever cherish. 

Great deeds were done upon the field. 
Where the battles had been most contested; 
For only cowards will run or yield 
Or lay in safety quite concealed, 
Where they won't be molested. 

Those heroes fought to win a name, 
And also make a nation; 
For men will fight for earthly gain. 
And scoff at death with every pain 
Where they seek remuneration. 

32 



Yet others, too, have fought and died, 
But not on fields of glory. 
Nor done their deeds thru human pride, 
For their heroic deeds they fain would hide. 
Nor that they should live in song and story. 

Within the view of that historic fort, 

Was a humble house of shelter open 

For the children whom the Lord hath smote, 

There the holy Sisters did devote 

Their lives and meager portion. 

Without the aid of state or nation. 
For funds with which they could maintain. 
Or build a house with their just portion. 
Where they could lend their lives' devotion. 
Without a hope of earthly gain. 

But the Lord whose wisdom knows no limit, 
Hath chose to try their faith by fire. 
For He chastises those whom He loveth, 
The chosen ones v/ho in Him trusteth. 
Like His servant. Job, cast in the mire. 

The call of fire ran thru the building, 
Which caused the children fear and quake; 
But the holy Nuns, like angels guarding, 
And their own safety disregarding. 
They gave their lives to lead them safe. 

And, thus, those five followers of Jesus, 
Unseen amidst that sea of fire ; 

33 



And doing His work, which always pleases, 
And by such acts His wrath appeases, 
To no nobler death did they aspire. 

Beneath those soft blue Southern skies, 

Upon a lone verdurous section, 

Their charred remains now quietly lies. 

Until the day they shall arise 

To a bright and glorious resurrection. 

Requiescant in pace. 



34 



THE MARTYRED SISTERS OF THE INCARNATE 
WORD. 

The bells are tolling dismal peals, 
The smoke in volumes raises in curls; 
The gaping crowd they look and reel, 
E'en tho their hearts were made of steel. 
As the Sisters' Orphanage, it burns. 

The children in good order flee, 
And seek for safety and for succor; 
Those once who just in mirthful glee, 
Had gamboled lightly o'er the lea, 
In their clean white bibs and tucker. 

The horses coated white with foam. 
Arrive in haste their lines to form, 
But a flame darts out from every dome 
Before their lines could reach the home, 
Or they its fury could disarm. 

The cry of death, "Oh, save your lives," 

The fire and flames, how quick they burn; 

The building now is but a wreck. 

But still the Sisters stand on deck. 

As to save their lives in flight they'd scorn. 

The firemen call, "Oh, save your lives!" 

The roof it shakes and totters ; 

There is now but one exit that lies. 

But the smoke and flame now blind their eyes 

With the cinders that they scatter. 

35 



Those helpless children in their charge, 
To whose care they were devoted; 
Who in their young and tender age 
They tended them thru every stage, 
And they were by them supported. 

They stood there, those five martyrs brave, 
Five, that never would surrender; 
And as it seemed, defied the grave. 
As they scorned their own lives to save, 
Rather than their charges suffer. 

They gave their lives, those saintly Nuns, 
But, Oh, the agonies they must have suffered; 
For of all the children there were but two 
Who were not saved when their work was thru. 
Their lives in sacrifice they offered. 

On that historic ground we pause. 

Made sacred by those whose lives were given ; 

For there never was a nobler cause 

Than those holy Nuns, there in death's jaws, 

But their monument is built in heaven. 



§^ 



36 



TRIBUTE TO COLUMBUS. 

Beyond the world's great ocean spread 
The limitless stretch of an ocean boundless, 

Upon which never a ship had spread 
Her sails, as all such hopes were groundless 

No one so bold to penetrate 

The mysteries of those seas' expanse, 

The bravest hearts would hesitate 
To risk their lives at such a chance. 

What powers of man could reach beyond 
The limit which the Lord has made? 

They took their lives in their own hand 
And only sought a watery grave. 

There were reasons many could be given 
That seemed to them both good and sound; 

Such uncertain course no ship had ridden. 
And then the way could not be found. 

The world that once had looked so boundless, 
Was crowded to the Western shore. 

And mankind all had felt so powerless, 
And knew not where to look for more. 

He came, a stranger, from a foreign land, 
In want to beg from door to door, 

With charts to show there lay beyond 
A newer world on yonder shore. 

37 



No one to heed his wonderous tale, 

Deliriums of a fevered brain, 
Or those who listened would only rail 

At his delusions as being vain. 

The gifted priest named Father Perez, 
Well versed in lore of sea and land. 

Directed him to Isabella, 
Who pawned the jewels upon her hand. 

The queen and sovereign of the nation, 
Who just expelled the Moors from Spain, 

She paid to fit the expedition. 
Nor was her sacrifice in vain. 

Inspired with thoughts beyond mere wealth. 

Of power or conquest to extend. 
He knew for certain, and he felt. 

They had not reached the world's end. 

Beyond the many astronomical reasons. 
Though at cosmology he did excel. 

He knew it from the Savior's teachings, 
For to his apostles doth he not tell. 

The end should come when every nation 

Had heard the gospel that they should preach, 

The world then had no valid reason, 

As the Word had been within their reach. 

His ambition was to preach the gospel 
And preach the peace of Christ to men, 

38 



He was eager for to go and battle 
And seek more souls for Christ to win. 

And thus the great renowned Columbus 
Achieved success where none dared tread, 

His memory shall be ever with us, 
His name shall live, tho he be dead. 




39 



THE SETTLER. 

Dark and dismal was the forest, 
When seen in the distant gloom, 

Near the edge of which a cottage stood, 
Twas then the month of June; 

And the ivy clung and the holly grew 
As it were on a silent tomb. 

'Twas but a little clearing, 

That was made where a stranger filed, 
Who set his cabin up in haste 

In that country, new and wild, 
And dreamed of future happiness 

For a loving wife and child. 

Each evening brought the darkening shades 
When the sun in the West went down. 

And the nearing howl of the forest beasts 
And the hoot and screech of the owl. 

And the lonesome wailing of the v/ind 
Made him wish he was back in town. 

But each morning when the sun arose 
With its rays thru the green tree tops. 

His strength and courage were renewed 
With the hopes of a good year's crops. 

For the sun's bright rays dispel the gloom 
From the mind that the darkness warps. 

40 



New courage and new hopes arose 

To stimulate his toil, 
And a fresh resolve each day was made 

To subdue and conquer the soil. 
But from a cot in that distant land 

His nature did recoil. 

The autumn came with its falling leaves, 

Followed by the winter's snows. 
And the trees that were green in the summer time 

Where the flowers in the green wood grows, 
Now stood denude there in that wood 

Like some giant in repose. 

The winter in that distant land 

Brought sorrow in its trail, 
For that child and mother raised in ease 

Were now growing weak and pale. 
For the child and wife couldn't endure such life, 

As they were young and frail. 

The spring came around with its birds and bees 

To again renew new life. 
And the winds blew gently thru the trees 

And melted the snows and the ice, 
But the mother and child were then at ease, 

For they had given their lives as the price. 

No monument rests on that silent grave 

To mark where the dear ones lay, 
Nor inscription wrote upon their tomb 

That's mixed with the sodded clay; 

41 



But there they'll rest 'till the day of doom, 
Hidden from the sun's bright ray. 

In time some more will take their place, 

Some just as good and kind, 
And cultivate that barren waste 

In those plains and woodlands wild. 
Where the wind still moans and the coyotes howl 

That affrighted the mother and child. 



42 



THE MISER. 

With grasping hands the miser reaches out, 
And seems to grip the money e'er 'tis offered; 
His blinking eyes half shut and shriveled mouth 
And tottering steps with which he moves about, 
All speak the misery his flint heart suffered. 

The widow whom misfortune hath o'ertaken 
And left her sad and destitute with many cares, 
And feels as tho by all she'd been forsaken, 
E'en those who of her former bounty had partaken. 
She moves him not to pity by her tears. 

His soul in anguish seeks for every copper. 

And were it not forthcoming he doth smote. 

He'd drive the unprotected orphans from their cottage 

And confiscate their only dish of pottage, 

Or get all interest on his binding note. 

He preys upon the helpless and the needy, 

Whose little holdings are within his tightening grasp ; 

For possession of which his soul is greedy. 

For his soul is mean which like the clothes he wears are 

seedy. 
And his voice is sharp and grating like a rasp. 

The miser likes to count his gold and handle 
And even in his old declining years, 
For every cent he'll ever strive and wrangle 
And feels as if he'd eat enough he'd strangle. 
For avarice brings its troubles and its cares. 

43 



For avarice seems to be its own avenger, 
And it, too, must receive its rightful share. 
And blinds its victim to all sense of danger, 
As to mercy, like the miser, 'tis a stranger. 
And often leads to suicide and despair. 



§^ 



44 



I 



THE ROMAN GLADIATOR. 

He stood before the Roman throng, 

With netted brow and muscled arms; 

He had no cause to right a wrong, 

Altho in body brave and strong. 

As none his valor could confute, 

For in strength and courage he was a brute. 

He stood within the circled ring. 

As he listened to the distant ding. 

Or taunts to urge him to the fray, 

For life or death he'd fight that day; 

Life seemed but little should he go down, 

As he lived for glory and renown. 

He'd fight for Roman pride and glory, 
So his name should live in song and story; 
The wealth may prompt him to the strife, 
In which he'd win or lose his life. 
For should antagonist prove more able, 
And he should sink in mystic sable. 

And seek for mercy which unfound, 
And thumbs were turned to the ground. 
Which meant his doom and sealed his fate; 
And he was cast outside the gate. 
Where, then, would be his pride and glory? 
He'd never live in song or story. 



45 



THE VULTURE'S PREY. 

The dreaded days of wrath have come, 
The powers of Hell unloosed their fury; 

The time of carnage has begun, 

And Europe's hearths are gaunt and gloomy. 

The powers of Europe, frenzied with madness, 
Some puffed with pride or cringed with fear. 

Or seized their chance with joy and gladness, 
To right a wrong they could not bear. 

Some in their homes of peace and plenty. 
Content within their narrow sphere. 

And laboring there in quiet tranquility. 
For in their hearts they had no fear. 

The Dogs of War ever rapacious, 

And seeking whom they might destroy. 

As avaricious as they are sagacious, 
A weaker power they did defy. 

But well they paid their rash endeavor. 
For force was met by Belgians brave. 

To surrender, they, as Gauls would never, 
The enemy's path was made their grave. 

But in the light of the coming day. 
When the bright sun shone o'erhead. 

And melts the morning dew 

That fell on the dying and dead. 

46 



And the vulture seeks its prey, 

To glut its ravenous maw, 
And feasts alike on the corpses that lay, 

While their gaping wounds were raw. 

All flesh is meat to his taste, 

As he picks o'er each dainty bite, 

Of each carcass there going to waste. 
That he gluts with delight at the sight. 

From such lavish and sumptuous feast 

The vulture he cannot refrain, 
For he has only the instinct of beast. 

And can't reason aright with his brain. 

The child raised in comfort and ease, 
Beneath a kind mother's fond care, 

Who'd shield him from every breeze 
That ruffled his long waving hair. 

And the fond recollections at home. 
Of a sister, fond mother, or wife. 

For whose absence none else can atone. 
As they pray there each day for his life. 

Could they now see his emaciated form. 
Mingling with the dead there now lying. 

None to shield his loved face from the storm 
As he lay prostrate, shivering and dying. 

And the vulture, which oft gets too eager. 
Would not wait for his death to arrive, 

47 



But around his gaunt form they hover, 
To feast on him while yet alive. 

With no power left nigh to defend him, 
As they seek to pick out his eyes, 

For his arms he cannot now bend them, 
In vain efforts his hands to arise. 

And some call this war an honor. 
While the loved ones pray and cry, 

And they shriek in fear and horror, 
While their brave ones fight and die. 




48 



RETURN OF YOUTH. 

Give me, oh, give me, my youth once again, 
With its hopes and its future and sorrow; 
V/here I now would lay off there I'd like to begin, 
As I know of the tactics which in life take to win, 
Which youth of old age could oft borrow. 

Give me, oh, give me, my youth back again, 
With its follies and sunshine and shadows; 
For the future is hid, tho we seek it in vain. 
Which relieves of our mind much sorrow and pain, 
Should we know what befalls us tomorrow. 

Would I wish to renew my youth once again. 
With my loves and my hates and my struggles; 
With all of the toils of my hands and my brain, 
For trophies I strove for and sought but in vain, 
Which I find now was but empty bubbles. 

No, I seek not my youth nor do I wish to regain 
The years that I wantonly wasted, 
For should they return I may live just the same. 
And even do worse as man's fickle and vain. 
And not cured by the bitterness tasted. 



49 



FANCY-FREE. 

Fancy-free is the maiden comely, 
Free from love and husband's care, 

And tho she may betimes feel lonely, 
For in her heart a void is there. 

Fancy-free with no cares or sorrows 

To mar the pleasures of her life, 
For the cares are light which the maiden borrows. 

Compared with those of a mother-wife. 

Fancied griefs and expectations, 

Few and light for a maid to bear, 
A sigh, a cry, or small vexations, 

For maiden needs must shed a tear. 

Tears are but as rain-drops falling. 
That tend to soothe and soften grief. 

And tho at times they may seem galling. 
They always bring the heart relief. 



50 



FIRESIDE FANCIES. 

Fireside fancies when the sun is low, 
As it sinks o'er the moimtain's crest, 
And we watch the sparks as they die or glow, 
Like the mind that's moved with joy or woe. 
And have no peace nor rest. 

Fireside fancies, future and past, 
But now they both are present, 
As they come and go but never last. 
Like the gentle breeze or biting blast. 
Both bitter, sweet and pleasant. 

Thoughts of childhood, fancies wild, 
Like the flitting flames that vanish. 
And leave no sign nor trace behind. 
And neither bind nor hold the mind. 
But their memory we still cherish. 

Thoughts by the fireside, fancy's hours. 
That crowd like rushing waters 
And hold the thoughts in its pleasant bowers. 
O'er which it builds its spiral towers, 
For beauty's lovely daughters. 



51 



DAY DREAMS. 

Under the shade of the blossomed bowers, 
The maiden spends her dreamy hours; 
Hours that know not grief nor care, 
Passeth by so sweetly there. 

Thoughts that to her mind unfold, 
Stories that were never told, 
To her of one she'd love, not fear. 
Was in her mind depicted there. 

Maid, beneath that shady tree, 
Happy as you'll ever be, 
Tho your mind may wish for more. 
Others, too, have wished before. 

Others thought as you do now 
In their young and happy hour, 
Hopes before their minds arose, 
Hopes and fears that no one knows. 

Maiden's hopes are ever bright. 
When her thoughts and heart are light, 
E're the shade of evening throws 
A shadow o'er her cheeks of rose. 

E'er the dullness of her eye. 
Or the deep and longing sigh. 
Show that age and grief and pain 
Hath left on her fair face their stain. 

62 



I 



Maiden, in your youth and power, 
Do not waste that transient hour, 
For like the brightness of noonday, 
Your youth and beauty'll pass away. 



» 



53 



SWEETHEARTS TOGETHER. 

We have been friends together, 
We have roamed the woods alone, 

We have watched the dripping waterfall, 
That wore away the stone. 

We have seen the quiet herds browsing. 
And the frisky lambs at play. 

And the beautiful surrounding, 
Where we whiled the hours away. 

We have seen the first pink blossoms 
That appeared upon the trees, 

And the sweet perfume they scattered, 
Which was wafted on the breeze. 

And the first notes of the song birds, 
Where they piped their plaintive notes, 

As they flit among the branches 
With their quivering little throats. 



We knew each little shady brook i 

Where the bowers o'erhead unite, j 

And the silent grove or quiet nook. 
In the shade of evening's light. 

We have told each other secrets. 

Which no other one should know, 
In return got assurances 

That no further should they go. 

54 



» 



We have parted with reluctance, 
When the sun in red went down, 

But cared not for the distance 
That should lead us back to town. 

We were lovers, true and simple, 
And we met with great delight, 

And there never was a rimple 
That would mar or dim the light. 

We had been friends long together. 
And we vowed we ne'er would part, 

Nor would never love another. 
As we had but a single thought. 

But a coolness has come o'er us, 
And no more we meet as yore, 

For our love it seems was porous. 
As so many were before. 




55 



SHE'S WRITING TO ABSENT LOVED ONES. 

She's writing a letter today 

To the loved ones so dear to her heart, 
She has many fond wishes to say, 

Since those dear ones from her last did part. 

As she sits with the pen in her hand 
And her eyes have a look far away, 

As she tries her stray thoughts to command, 
The fond words that she now would convey. 

How lonely and sad now she feels. 
As she misses their presence each day. 

But her own grief she ever conceals, 
And writes as tho happy and gay. 

For distance adds charms to love. 

And actuates memory's powers, 
And binds closer the bonds that unite 

Those absent in long weary hours. 

No matter in what foreign lands. 
And no distance, no matter how great, 

Can sever or loosen the bands 
That love and affections create. 

Even death, in no matter what form, 
That shall e'er leave a void in the soul, 

Shall deduct or abstract from the charm 
Of the ones that we still call our own. 

56 



For death only loosens the bands 
That affection again would unite, 

As they gently pick up the stray strands 

Which the loved ones had lost in their flight 



57 



LOVERS. 

Lovers long and happy we were, how long I cannot tell; 

Since the first bright dawn my memory knew, 

Then my heart and hopes were all for you, 

And my blushing cheeks where the red blood crept, 

Which I nightly washed with the tears I wept. 

Lovers we were when we strolled together, 
Thru the meadows when the sun was low. 
And its parting rays like a parent's blessing, 
When the ills of life are most depressing. 
And his hours are short and few. 

Lovers we were and how oft we counted 
Hours and days when our hearts were light, 
And in thought and words we were then united. 
For with all things we were then delighted, 
As the sun each day was warm and bright. 

When we sat beneath the shady elms 

And watched the sheep on the grassy hill, 

And the bleating lambs as they played and gamboled. 

For on those scenes we often rambled. 

And now in thought we wander still. 



58 



"MAIDEN AND HER MATE." 

Down in a lovely valley, 

Beside a lucid stream, 
In youth I loved to tarry 

And dream my daylight dream. 

Upon my brow no burden. 

Upon my heart no care, 
For life was naught but sunshine 

When I was musing there. 

'Midst sweet notes of the wildbirds, 

That wafted thru the dell. 
And spent their dying echoes 

Where they so softly fell. 

The lambs that played so blithely 

Upon that verdant plain, 
Unmindful that their destiny 

Was only to be slain. 

The birds' sweet music thrilled my soul. 
So I carolled my love notes, too, 

And sang my songs in innocence. 
As maiden is want to do. 

In my single heart none had a part, 

And it was all my own. 
But the arrow's dart cleaved it apart. 

And claimed the half or whole. 

59 



No more I roam as in the past, 

Relieved of anxious care, 
Since I met my love my die is cast, 

As he haunts me everywhere. 

I see him walking thru the dell, 
His straight and manly form. 

And fancy as my young heart swells, 
I could follow on his arm. 

On thru pain and sorrow, 

On thru grief and woe, 
I'd follow him tomorrow, 

Where'er he'd lead I'd go. 

And so it is our destined end, 
We all must meet our fate. 

For maiden's will shall bow and bend, 
When maiden meets her mate. 




60 



SHE'S MARRIED NOW. 

She's married now and the cares of life are falling, 
Upon the stately head she proudly held erect, 

And she hears the many voices sweetly calling. 
As o'er the grassy lawns they softly crept. 

She's married now, no more those pleasant evenings, 
Or the long and patient waiting as before, 

Or the last fond lingering words e'er he was parting. 
Which she loved to hear before she shut the door. 

She's married, but her memory oft returned 
To the days of pleasant friendship she enjoyed. 

Of the many cans of gasoline they had burned. 
When touring o'er the country for a ride. 

She's married, but her memory oft returned 

To the griefs and galling heart-aches she should bear, 

And the love she'd give which often had been spurned, 
Which often caused her shed a bitter tear. 

No more she watches eager for the postman. 
Nor the phone to ring that hangs upon the wall. 

Nor the latest styles of feminine creation, 
Nor the dainty invitation to the ball. 

But her home which is her pleasant habitation, 
And the voice of loving children when they call. 

And fond duty is her only recreation. 
And contentment, which at last is best of all. 



61 



PERPLEXING THOUGHTS. 

He's gone, the form that once I loved so well, 

And from whose lips the words of love oft' fell ; 

Upon whose strength and faith I could rely, 

Alas! That one so kind and good should have to die 

And leave me here alone to mourn his fate, 

And spend declining years, alone, without a loving mate. 

Ah, shall I look for other hopes or brighter eyes, 

And give my soul to laughter and not sighs, 

Or shall I list to songs of other days. 

And watch the evening sun's last setting rays? 

And cleave to the heart once warm that now is cold. 

Or kiss the lips of youth before grown old? 

Or cling to joys that only memory tells, 

Or leave my heart rejoice in present spells; 

Or wander in the darkness of the night, 

Or bask in sunlit smiles of morning light; 

Or look for love, which found would soon grow cold, 

For young love sees no charms in the old. 

Then shall I buoy my laden heart with younger ties, 
And drown the sound of merry laughter with my sighs; 
And lead the young to grief and misery like mine, 
They were not made to mix the sweet and bitter wine ; 
And neither will two hearts that's far apart, 
Rejoice and mingle as a single heart. 



62 



TRUE LOVE. 

I love her yet, not with an inordinate desire, 
I love her not with heart aflame with fire, 
For fire consumes and leaves but ashes left. 
And love too ardent will oft' cause regret. 

I love her for the joy she brings to me, 

Which lingers long around my memory. 

And for the light and sunshine she bestows, 

Like the love-light in her eyes and cheeks of rose. 

I love her not alone for her dear sake. 
Nor yet for the kind helpmate she would make. 
For man sees naught but love and love alone. 
And wants that love that he can call his own. 




THE LOVELESS POET. 

The poet depicts in terms, glowing, 
Strains of love he ne'er enjoyed, 

But from his pen affection's flowing, 
While of its sweetness he was denied. 

No thoughts of love he e'er had cherished, 
For cold his heart it hath been yet. 

For like the flowers that bloom then perish, 
Or the bird that's caught within the net. 

Poor warbler when he flew at leisure, 
His notes resounded thru the vale. 

Where to sing his love notes was a pleasure, 
And on him no hardship did entail. 

The poet's love songs incites his musings. 
As it reaches out when fancy-free. 

And starts him on that strain, perusing. 
On which all lovers doth agree. 

The actor acts his part unfeeling. 

And has no sympathy nor love. 
While at her feet he's humbly kneeling. 

And excels in wooing, the turtle dove. 

When love, the poet hath entangled. 
And caught within its fickle net. 

Then fancy love was in him strangled. 
As at its goal it met its death. 



64 



FUTURE GENERATIONS. 

Will the youth who are coming tomorrow, 
Will they follow the paths of today, 
And do as their fathers and mothers hath done, 
Or walk in a different way? 

Will they dress in the same height of fashion, 
Or go to the same church to pray. 
Or seek for their use what now is obstruse. 
And find out what's hidden away? 

Will they fly in a half hour to Paris, 

And return again the same day, 

Or sink to the deep where the octopus creeps, 

Like some monster in search of his prey? 

Shall they finally eliminate labor. 
Or without rain or the sunshine make hay. 
But turn on the light in the cool of the night 
With the aid of electric display ? 

Will they engage in their wars without weapons, 
Or settle disputes without strife. 
And eat all their food predigested or crude, 
Without need of a fork or a knife? 

Will they use as a pillow the billows. 

Or pillow their heads on a cloud. 

Or be content with the earth here the place of their birth, 

Or will they be getting too proud? 

65 



Will the horse be by that time forgotten, 

And the mule also gone the same way, 

And no negro they'll need to pick cotton and seed, 

Or will it be hauled with a dray? 

Will the people live then in the country. 
Or will they move into the town? 
For they're never content to any extent, 
Whether up in the world or down. 

For the earth it is always revolving, 
And mankind is never the same, 
He's fickle or fair or sometimes don't care. 
But then he's not always to blame. 



66 



WOMAN'S WEAPONS. 

How powerful are thy weapons, 

Thou woman of love and joy, 

Which pierce men's hearts with their cruel dart, 

With which she well can play her part 

When she chose to smile or cry. 

Her smile like beams of sunshine plays. 
And eyes with mirth oft' sparkle. 
But naught that's in her heart portrays, 
Nor fears nor hopes of her betrays 
Hid 'neath that smiling mantle. 

When disappointed love or hate 
In its most malignant form. 
Hath set its seal upon her soul. 
And tho at heart she'd sigh or moan, 
Her smile would hide the storm. 

But oft' when smile would fail to soothe, 
Or check man's rising anger, 
That powerful dart she'd bring in play. 
And weep and cry, then have her way, 
'Tis a woman's great avenger. 



67 



THE MODERN WOMAN OF FASHION. 

The modern woman of fashion, superb, 

Whose finery she flaunts in our face, 
As if to her mind the thought ne'er occurred, 

That it adds neither beauty nor grace. 

With a sash flowing out loosely and tied v/ith a knot, 
Like a peacock that flaunts his gay plumage. 

Those features of nature she never begot. 
But were placed there with powder and rouge. 

Upon her head gaudily she wears a big hat, 
Concealed with a large flowing feather, 

Which spreads o'er her face to the size of a mat, 
While no cheek could be painted a redder. 

Her bust it swells out with a jabot, 
As she tilts her vain head to one side. 

And she struts proudly forth on a Sabbath, 
As if both her feet had been tied. 

She lacks many things m.ore essential 

Than the parasol held in her hand, 
Altho it could be used as a missile 

To ward off some silly brigand. 

Her gloves are both thin and transparent, 
Tho they fit rather close to her hands, 

And are worn for style and not comfort, 
Like the footwear upon which she stands. 



68 



THE HOWLING DOG. 

There is an old adage as old as the hills, 

The poorer the home the more dogs there's to bark; 

And still when some raise out of poverty's ills, 

And they change their old clothes for a new suit with 

frills, 
They still keep the dog as a mark. 

The owner sits quiet in his new rocking chair, 
As defiant as the cur that he claims, 
"And say just one word, mister, now if you dare, 
For my dog he shall bark and howl everywhere. 
And I care not who censures or blames." 

"I know that some people who live here around, 
Whose nerves or night's rest might be wrecked. 
But still that great nuisance I'll maintain I'll be bound, 
For tho poverty is gone still I'll cling to m.y hound, 
'Tis the mark of my poverty left." 

"I'll sleep just as sound with never a thought. 

Nor a care for the neighbors afflicted, 

For I live now in style in the new home I bought. 

But to respect others rights I have never been taught' 

But for the rights of my dog I've insisted." 

We all like a dog, he's a nice thing to have, 

When he's kept in his home unneglected; 

But when he barks all the night to his owner's delight, 

And keeps all the neighbors in a pitiful plight. 

It is time such abuse be corrected. 

69 



Now let the man start to howl that's hit with the ball, 

For none else should be interested; 

For the bird that is shot is the one that shall fall, 

And no one but him should howl out at all 

At the manner in which we protested. 

Now then, my good friend, to bring this to an end, 

You should give this affair your attention ; 

For your dog should be dead, 

Then we could sleep sound in our bed. 

But your name and address I'll not mention. 

One of the Sufferers. 



70 



THE COW. 

The cow, that mild domestic beast, 
That contributes to man's pleasure. 
And supplies him with his milk and meat, 
Which he can drink and also eat, 
And is to us a treasure. 

He roams about the pastures wild, 
Far from our habitations, 
Or can be led by any child, 
As he is gentle, meek and mild, 
Into close reservations. 

He's all the colors I've ever seen — 

He's black and white and yellow; 

And brown and gray with stripes between, 

But never saw one blue or green, 

But often heard them bellow. 

There's the Jersey cow that's for the home 
And the Texas Steer so slender, 
And the Hereford, wild, that likes to roam, 
Would jump a fence or climb a pole, 
And break his ties asunder. 

There's the Kerry cow so black and slick, 

With horns smooth and polished. 

And the West Highland whose coat is thick. 

But easy kept and never sick, 

Altho he seems half famished. 

71 



His hide makes leather to clothe our feet, 

His nose, it looks like rubber; 

His hide looks well on a cushion seat, 

His horns and bones make combs with teeth, 

But the brute is lots of bother. 

I never had but one myself, 

And never want another; 

I bought him from a man who said 

He only sulled, but he soon was dead. 

As he never did recover. 



72 



AN AUTO RIDE. 

On an evening while the sun was high, 

But still had passed its zenith, 

We bade the city streets good-bye, 

And of relief we heaved a sigh, 

For the joys which the summer bringeth. 

The distant hills where the shadows crept, 
As they spread o'er the hills and valleys, 
And the bat and owl so quietly slept. 
And the rabbits o'er the prairie leaped, 
In gleeful silent sallies. 

The dark green hues by the forest trail 
That skirted where we traveled, 
And the varied flowers that decked the dale, 
From the dark deep red to the silvery pale, 
At such beauty rare, we marveled. 

The lizard o'er the grassy knoll 
Disports his flashy form, 
Or quietly crawled into his hole. 
From which he had so softly stole, 
Upon the least alarm. 

The peasant on his riding plow 

Rode up and down at leisure, 

While his bronze hued face and heated brow. 

Reflected no thought, tho he knew not how, 

He should be paid in measure. 

73 



With flits of sallies we hurried past, 
Our speed was e'er increasing, 
For on the road no time v/e lost, 
Tho oft' with horn we blew a blast 
To arouse and wake the sleeping. 

The campers lay along the road. 
Or moved along at leisure, 
Altho not burdened with much load. 
Their lazy quadrupeds they'd goad, 
As tho such travel had been pleasure. 

No mishap on that pleasant ride 

Had dimmed or marred our travel, 

Altho we dropped into one side. 

Where the road was less than ten feet wide, 

And piled up with fresh gravel. 



74 



TRAILING THE DEAD. 

How gay before the sun hath risen 
To light the landscape of the dale, 

O'er which the night with clouds hath hidden 
The stars which shone in brightness pale. 

The monster from its rest doth travel, 
And search the country where men tread; 

Upon the roads where pitch and gravel 
Were used to make a smooth roadbed. 

Untiring as the hills it passes, 

It slackens not nor doth it shy, 
But madly on its course it dashes, 

Alive, tho dead, but still may die. 

When seen upon that sun-lit morning, 

It then defied the distant space. 
And hours spent there were counted charming, 

As it quickly moves from place to place. 

But, oh alas, it met disaster. 
For death was lurking, so we bewail, 

For now it could not move on faster 
Than the one that towed it on its trail. 



75 



